A Thousand Points to Swifty Li
by Princess MacEaver
Summary: He's Swifty. She's wet. What happens when they meet and Swifty does all he can to protect the girl he loves...
1. Default Chapter

A Thousand Points to Swifty Li

By Princess MacEaver

Around November it really started to get cold.  During the afternoons, though, it was still warm enough to hang around outside, so long as you dressed for it.  On afternoons like that, with the air cold but the sun baking the ground, you can usually find me hanging around with the guys by the docks, or tossing a ball in the park.  Where this story begins, I was doing the latter: just messing around and enjoying the last of the good weather with my pals Jake and Skittery.  Soon, though, things got boring and I had to do what I could to make things more interesting.

I swipe the ball from Jake's hands.  "Li steals the ball!" I yell, taking it upon myself to provide the play-by-play.  Li's me.  Simon Li, known here as Swifty.  And not for no good reason—as Skittery and Jake both jump at me to grab the ball back, I leave them in the dust.

"He fakes to the left, he fakes to the right," I rattle on.  Man, I'm not even _breathing hard.  I toss the ball over a tree branch and catch it on the other side.  "Beautiful one-man maneuver by Li.  Two points."_

"Man, what are you _doing?" Skittery gasps._

I laugh and pass by him before he even realizes I've switched direction.  I'm making this all up as I go along; now I start to bounce the ball with every step and I'm still outdistancing them.  "Li passes—Li intercepts—cross-court to Li again," I say, tossing the ball to myself and back with some fancy footwork.  Just when they've almost caught up with me, I take off running for real again.

"You're crazy!" Skittery yells after me, and I snatch a look over my shoulder to see Jake giving in, breathing hard with his hands on his knees.

"Hey, that's no fun!"  I say, spinning around to come back, doing my crazy bouncing thing again.  "Foul on Jake for being a spoilsport."  I come close enough to bounce the ball off his head.

"Ow, man!" he protests, trying to grab at the ball, which I've already caught again.  Skittery's caught up with me and now proceeds to wrestle me for it.

"Attaboy, Skittery!" I crow approvingly.  I let him get the ball just to see what he'll do with it.

Once he's got it, he stands there gulping for breath and holding it in his hands.

"Well?" I ask, shoving my hair back under my hat.  I know he can see the challenge in my eyes.

"What?" Jake says.  "Just hand it over, Skittery."

Skittery's eyes dart from me to Jake and then back.  Something glints in them and I know I've got him.  "Greene's got possession," he says, taking a few steps back.  "Pass-in to Greene, and the ball's in play!"

"Guys!" Jake groans behind us, but we take off running.

It's all good fun that takes us dodging old ladies and tree stumps all around the park.  I've got the ball again and I take the game into a whole new dimension by scampering up a tree, Skittery right at my heels.  "Li takes it high," I start to say, then someone on the path catches my eye.  I fall silent and the other two stop where they are.

"Swifty?" Jake asks from below, peering up at me through the bare branches.

I yank my hat off, wipe the sweat from my forehead, and drop to the ground beside him.  Skittery slides down from the tree, sees where I'm looking, and shakes his head.

"Oh _no you don't, Swifty," he says.  "You know she's Spot Conlon's girl."_

But Maverick's seen us, and she starts to wave excitedly.  I pull my hat back on and grin at the other two.

"Swifty…" Jake starts to say, but I toss the ball at him so hard he cuts off with an "oof," and I jog up to meet her.

"Swifty!" she says, twirling her parasol and letting me kiss her hand like she's some kind of real lady.  "Just who I wanted to see."

"Oh really?" I ask, and then remember my niceties.  "You're looking well, Maverick."

"You think so?" she says, smiling coyly and swishing the hem of her skirt.  "I do try."  She is playing _such the flirt, but by now Jake and Skittery have joined us, and Skittery's clearing his throat to remind me this __is Spot's girl.  She sees them and greets them both by name with a nod.  She may be seeing the Brooklyn leader, but Maverick grew up around all us Manhattan boys._

"Anyway, you were saying?" I prompt her.

"Oh right—wanted to see you.  I had something to give to Spot, but I can't make it out to Brooklyn this week, and thought since you go there as often as you do, to see Socksie and all…"

I know Maverick's heard several times that I stopped seeing Socks over a month ago, but things have a way of slipping her mind.  I don't get to remind her, though, because she's already pushing a small package into my hands.

"What is it?" I ask, pushing aside the white paper to try to get a look.

"He'll know what it means," she says.  "Now I have to be going…"  She flips her red hair over her shoulder and smiles.  "Lucky I ran into you, Swifty.  Goodbye boys."  I forget the package momentarily as I watch her sway away down the path.  Damn, but that girl looks _good._

"What is it?" Jake asks.

"Dunno," I say, pulling off the white paper to see what I'm delivering.  "Oh, shit," I say then. "It's his key."

"His key?"  They both try to get a closer look, and I start to feel a little sick.  Of course Spot's going to know what it means.  _Everybody knows what it means.  When a girl's wearing Spot's precious mystery key, you know he's got it bad for her.  And when the key's back around its owner's neck—well, Spot's single again._

"Tough luck, man," Skittery says, and Jake puts it more bluntly.

"You are so dead, Swifty."

We all know I face a serious case of shooting the messenger.  Especially since Spot's roughed me up once or twice before for 'looking at his girl'.  Like I can really help it when she's always prancing around in front of me like she does, brushing up against me anytime she passes and wearing those skirts that cling to her hips juuust right.

We stare at the key a minute, trying to figure out how to get me out of this mess.

"You could throw it in the lake," Jake suggests.  "Right here, right now."

Skittery knocks him so hard his derby flies off.  "And have Maverick tell Spot Swifty's the one who lost it?  Then he's _really dead."_

"Just an idea," Jake mumbles, dusting his hat off before jamming it back on his head.

"You could mail it to him, maybe?" Skittery says after a long silence.

Jake is quick to shoot down Skittery's idea.  "And what does he do if the post office loses it, huh?"

"I suffer a terrible death at the hands of the big, bad Spot Conlon," I answer woefully.

"Well, sorry my man," Skittery says, clapping me on the back, "but it looks like there's nothing for it but a good old-fashioned in-person delivery."

"Are you a praying man?" Jake asks, looking at me seriously, "because if not, now would be a good time to start."

"Here's an idea," I say.  "Why don't one of _you do the noble thing and offer to take it off my hands?"  After all, they've never been seen as objects of Maverick's wandering affections._

They both visibly shrink away from the key.

"Bad idea, Swifty."

"Definitely a bad idea."

I glower at the key a moment longer.  All this trouble, from one hunk of metal on a string.  I drop it into my jacket pocket resignedly.  "Fine," I say.  "But you two are coming with me."


	2. Chapter Two

The sun's going down as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge.  We swing down from the side when we reach the grounds of Brooklyn and walk along the wharfs by the waterside.  We joke and play around a little, trying not to think about—duh duh dummmm—my impending doom.

"Watch it!" a girl snaps when Jake inadvertently almost bumps her off the dock.

"Sorry," he says, grabbing her hand to keep her upright.  Once she's balanced, she jerks her hand away and gives him a cold glare.

"Watch it!" Skittery mimics in a high voice as soon as we pass.  "Friendly, ain't she?"

I glance over my shoulder and catch an expression that tells me she heard him.

We cut out our roughhousing as we come up to the stretch of dock where Conlon can usually be found.  "Li goes in for the special play," Skittery whispers in my ear.  "Li vs. Conlon showdown.  Don't try this at home, kids."

The Brooklyn boys greet us with their usual friendly glares when they notice our arrival. 

"What's your business?" one asks from where he sits up on a piling.

"Here to see Spot," I manage to say.

"Looking to pick a fight?" a kid behind Jake asks, a sinister grin sliding across his face at the prospect.

"Nuh-unh," Jake quavers.  "Just want to talk to Spot."

"Well, he's not around," the first kid informs us.

Me, Skittery, and Jake break for a quick huddle.  "Now what?" Skittery hisses.

"Just hand it over and let's get out of here.  At least that way he'll have to find you before he can kill you."

"Why is that not comforting," I wonder aloud.

"Don't do it," Skittery says.  "If something happens to that key, it'll be on you.  You should just come back tomorrow and hand it over."

I decide to go with Skittery's plan.  His way, at least I can sleep safe in my bed one night before Conlon comes thirsting for my blood.  We leave Brooklyn the way we came.  Jake starts to spin the ball he's been carrying under his arm, and in what seems to be an effort to cheer me up, starts up another game.

"Callahan and Greene go two-to-one against Li going into the third round," he says, jogging backwards in front of me.  "Li may be invincible in the free-for-all game, but can he take the competition?  Yo, Skitts, go long!"

"You little cheat!" I yell, starting after the ball as Jake hurls it toward Skittery, who's trying to run and watch the ball at the same time.  Then I see it: he's on a direct collision course with that same girl Jake almost knocked over earlier.

"Whoa, Skittery, watch out!" I yell, but he's oblivious.  I put on a burst of speed and tackle him, but my foot catches on a loose plank at the last second and I end up shoving him right on top of the girl.  I hear a shriek and see some flailing limbs, and then the girl disappears off the edge of the dock.

Me and Skittery both flip over to peer down into the dark water below.  In the shadows under the dock, we can't see anything.

"Look what you did!" Skittery yells at me.  

"What-what _I did?  If you'd been watching where you were going to begin with—"_

"If you hadn't tripped—"

"GERONIMO!"  This was Jake, sailing over our heads as he leapt into the water.

"Jake!" we cry in unison, watching him splash.

"Get up!" I say, shoving Skittery.  "Do something!"

Skittery runs to where the dock meets the land and looks all around him for some sort of rescue device.

"Hold on Jake!" I bellow.  "We're coming!"

I hear a huge commotion from below, but I can't see anything but churning white water and limbs flailing all around.

"Stop kicking!" Jake's pleading through waves of water, and a shrill female voice is answering him.

"I said leggo of me!" she sputters.  "I can _swim!  Leggo!"_

Skittery helps Jake haul the girl, soggy and infuriated, onto the ground.  I do my part by fishing Jake's derby out of the water, where it has been bobbing along like some kind of confused duck.  I pour out its contents and turn back to the others.  The girl is spitting and hacking, but already getting to her feet, shaking Skittery off when he tries to give her a hand.

"What part of _I can swim don't you understand?" she shrieks.  She's pretty frightening, wet like this.  Actually, terrifying might be a better word.  She wears dark tights that are currently slouching down around her ankles in soggy folds, revealing skinny bare legs covered in goosebumps.  The color of her dress is indistinguishable, now that she's soaked through, and it's baggy and loose except where it clings to her arms and squelches as she gestures.  Her haircut is almost like a boy's-only to her neck in the back, and shorter even in the front.  Each wet strand drips huge, deliberate drops onto her forehead.  Wet, Jake looks as helpless and miserable as a puppy that's been left in the rain.  This girl looks scary as hell._

"I'm… sorry," Jake forces out through chattering teeth.  "I was just trying to…help."  He shivers suddenly and looks from me to Skittery.  "I'm going back… to get dry," he says, snatching his hat from my hands.  "Watch out… she kicks."

He jams the hat on his head and stalks away.  Skittery looks at me.  I shrug and then look to the girl.  "We really are sorry we—" I stop and look around for her.  She's already several yards ahead, down the dock.

"I don't think so," Skittery starts to say, but I follow her.  "Swifty!" he says.  "Jake said she bites!"

"Kicks!" I correct him, and lengthen my strides to shorten the distance between the girl and myself.  I know that behind me, Skittery is crossing his arms and sighing but, eventually, following.

The girl is walking fast but I easily fall into step beside her.  "Here, take my jacket," I say, pulling it off.  She continues to walk without acknowledging either my presence or my offer.

I'm not so easily shaken.  I appear right in front of her, catching her off guard.  She falters a step.  "The jacket," I repeat.

Her lips look slightly blue.  And soft.  I push the jacket into her arms.

"Thanks," she finally says, lips trembling, and pulls it on.

"Walk you home?" I suggest before she can start off again.  She looks a little surprised and I smile.  "It does seem the only way I'll get my jacket back."

She gives me a long look and then starts walking again, which I take as permission to join her.

"I'm Swifty," I say, offering her my hand as we walk.  "Simon Li, actually," I quickly add, "but Swifty's—"

"Spice," she says, shaking my hand.  "Spice McCoy.  And your f-friend?"

I only remember Skittery when she looks back to see him following a few steps behind us.

"Oh, right.  That's Skittery.  And Jake was the one who rescued you."

"Rescued me, hmph," she says.  After a moment she says, "Is Skittery c-contagious or something, or can he walk with us?"

"Oh, he can," I tell her, "but I dunno if he will.  Jake said you kick."

"Only when someone's trying to… drown me," she snaps, but then looks over her shoulder.  "Hey, Skittery.  Didn't your mother ever tell you it was c-creepy to follow behind people?"

Skittery gives me a look but speeds up to join us.

"So, Spice, where you taking us?" I ask shortly.

"Near East Street.  A kind of a warehouse I live in."  As she rubs her arms a little more color comes back to her face, and her teeth stop chattering.  She leads us through the unfamiliar streets of Brooklyn and, though I try to get her talking, doesn't volunteer much information about herself.  The streets are mostly empty, now that it's totally dark, but we see some policemen heading our way from the next corner.

"Uh-oh, Swifty," Skittery says, cuffing my shoulder, "it's the bulls.  They already found out you'll be dead tomorrow, and want to question you in advance."

"Har. Har." I say coldly, and shove him back.__

"Evening, officers," Skittery says in a voice that drips disrespect, tipping his cap as the policemen pass by.

I echo the motion but change it into a much ruder gesture as soon as their backs are to us.  Skittery smacks me and I remember the girl and quickly turn to apologize.  She's not there.

"Spice?" I say tentatively, looking at the spot where she was just seconds before.  She has, it seems, vanished into thin air.  "Hey, Spice!" I yell louder.

"Spice!" my own voice yells right back.  I wait and hear nothing else.

Skittery starts to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

He laughs harder.

"She took your jacket, man," he wheezes, doubled over.  "She stole your jacket.  She's a thief, man.  Took your freaking jacket."

At that moment, I turn to stone from the inside out.

"Hey, man, it's funny," Skittery says, straightening up.  "It's just a jacket."

"Skittery," I say, "Spot's key was in that jacket."

According to plan, I'm back in Brooklyn the next day.  In a deviation from the plan, I am alone and key-less.  I don't know whose name I've been cursing more, Maverick's or Spice's.  I'm regretting the day I met either of them.

"Near East Street," I mumble to myself, checking a street sign.  East Street runs parallel to the shoreline, a tumbledown strip with decaying abandoned buildings and rotten-smelling storage houses.  I'm beginning to wonder how I would ever find the particular 'like a warehouse' Spice mentioned, if she was even telling the truth, when it's immediately obvious.  It's just a big square warehouse like any of the others on the street, only about a dozen girls are lounging around the front stoop.  I figure it's got to be the place. 

When I approach the girls, they all fall silent and still and stare at me.  I try not to shiver in my thin shirt and say, "Does Spice McCoy live here?"

If anything, the girls all look more defensive.  I catch motion at the back of the crowd-a tall blond girl has slipped to her feet and disappears inside the door.  I don't think I was supposed to see, so I pretend I didn't.

"Who's asking?" a girl asks from my right.  She's dressed like a boy, with a Jewish star around her neck and a scar above her left eye.  Her expression is far from welcoming.

"Tell her it's Swifty, Swifty Li.  Tell her it's one of the boys from the dock the other night."

All eyes turn to the girl with the scar, and I guess she's the one who decides if I see Spice or not.  She looks at me, apparently decides I'm harmless, and sends a girl in to fetch Spice.

When Spice appears in the doorway, the first thing I notice is that she is not wearing my jacket.  The second thing I notice is that she looks a lot less scary dry.  She's wearing the same dress she had on last night, which now appears to be a gray-blue color, and a dark cap is set on her head.  Her hair, I now see, is reddish brown, and falling appealingly into her eyes.  Like a penny, I think.  I quickly remind myself she stole my jacket, and frown.

If she's surprised to see me, she doesn't show it.  "We can talk over here," she says, and I follow her to an alley.  Behind me, I hear catcalls and shouts of encouragement and I'm strongly reminded of home.  I think I see a blush rise on Spice's cheek but when she turns to face me it's gone.

"You took my jacket," I say right off, then inwardly wince at the abruptness of my words.  I bite at a hangnail uncomfortably.

"I didn't mean to," she says.

I laugh without humor.  "Oh, right."

"Honest.  I… I didn't realize I still had it 'til I got back here.  I'm sorry."

I look at her carefully and decide to believe her.  I'm not sure why… there's something in her eyes that tells me she's used to lying, but I feel like she's not lying to me.

"So can I have it back?"

"Um…" she says.  "I kind of don't have it anymore."

"How can you _kind of not have something?  Do you have, like, parts of it?"_

She looks like she's almost going to laugh but she rubs her sleeve across her face and the smile disappears.  "Okay, I entirely don't have it."

"What!"

"But I know where it is," she clarifies quickly.

"What'd you do with it?" I have to know.

"I gave it away."

"It wasn't yours to give!"

"I know!" she shouts right back.  "I just-I forgot at the time.  I'm sorry.  And I didn't think you'd know where to come to get it back…And she needed it more than either of us."

"Look," I say.  "I'm not mad about the jacket.  I don't care about the jacket."  I feel the cold through my shirt and briefly wonder why in the hell I said that.  "The thing is, there was something in that jacket that I absolutely _have to get back.  It belonged to a friend of mine."  I put my hand on her shoulder.  "If I find that jacket, I'm a dead man.  But if I don't find that jacket, I'm dead __and dismembered."_

She looks at my hand and I pull it away.

"If you want," she says, "we can go get your jacket."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

She takes me to an even more run-down section of the city.  On the way, I explain about the whole key situation and she seems to find it pretty funny.  In fact, she laughs so hard she gets the hiccups and I try whacking her in the arm to get her to calm down, (hey, it works on Mush) but she only laughs harder and makes jokes at my expense.

"I get it," I say.  "This is what they call gallows humor."

"Don't be such a baby," she tells me, not altogether kindly.  "This Spot Conlon can't be that bad."

I roll my eyes.  "You can only say that because he doesn't think you've stolen his girlfriend."

"And if he's got half a brain in his head, he never will," she replies smartly.

"Don't be too sure of that brain thing," I mumble, but when Spice asks me to speak up I tell her nevermind._  You can never be too careful of what you say when you're in Spot's territory._

"After you," she says then, stopping on a dock.

"What?"

"Jump down there," she says, and I see some mucky ground at the water's edge below the dock.  She gives me a little push and I fall off the edge, landing on one knee and sinking my hand deep into the sludge.  I extract it with a popping noise and make a face.

"Just a little mud," she says, landing lightly beside me.

She starts walking and I look down at my filthy hand and then at her.  I catch up and slather the mud all over her back.

"Hey!" she says, spinning to face me.

"Just a little mud," I say.

"Why I oughta…" she says, taking my collar like she's going to push me back into the water.  That's a laugh, she can't be taller than 5'2" and she's a bony little scarecrow of a girl.  I spin _her around and take __her collar and now I'm the one threatening to push her in the water._

"Want another swim?" I ask her.

She kicks me, hard, in the stomach, and I let her go to clutch my abdomen.

"That wasn't… necessary," I groan.  "Jake was right… about you."

Maybe she's sorry she kicked me so hard.  She puts a hand on my shoulder and asks if I'm all right.  But as soon as I say I'm fine the warmth is gone and she's walking again.  I rub my stomach and straighten up to follow.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask when I join her.

"To your jacket," is all she'll say.  Soon she turns and I think she's leading me into some sort of cave carved in the dirt bank, but then I see it's really a pipe.  A filthy, rusted, huge pipe.  She climbs up into its mouth and stands in the suspicious slime that coats its bottom.  "Well?" she asks, when I hesitate.  "Don't you want this key back?"

I start breathing through my mouth and she takes my clean hand to pull me inside the pipe, but lets go as soon as I'm in.  Inside, it smells so bad I can taste it.  I wonder if I'm imagining the strange drippings and scurryings that echo inside it.  "What," I ask, shivering in the cold, "is my jacket doing _here?"_

"I told you, I gave it away," she whispers.  "You stay here, or you'll scare her."

"Scare who?" I ask, but she's already headed deeper into the pipe.

"Posey?" I hear her call.  "It's me, Spice.  I brought you some apple."  I see her draw something from a dress pocket and she goes deeper into the shadows of the pipe.

Then I see Posey, or at least her silhouette.  She's a little girl, very small, and hunched over against the tunnel wall.  Spice crouches down beside her and the shadows obscure them both.  Spice is talking but the tunnel distorts it so all I can hear is soft, kindly noises.

After a short time Spice looks toward me, and a shaft of light from outside illuminates half her face.  "She'll come out and talk to you," she says, "but don't do anything to frighten her."

"Okay," I say, not knowing_ why I'm whispering._

Spice takes Posey by the hand and walks her toward me.  Posey's the dirtiest person I've ever laid eyes on.  As in, I _think she's a person.  She could be four or forty, the way she walks with unsure steps and a this haggard thin face that peeks up at me from below a ragged kerchief.  She wears my jacket, dragging in the mud behind her, and not much else.  Not enough, anyway, for November.  They stop just in front of me._

"Go for it, Swifty," Spice says.  "Tell her what you came for."

She's testing me.

I kneel in front of the girl.  "I came… to bring you this," I say, producing a penny candy from my pocket.  She stands very still, and I have to push the candy into her fist and fold her fingers over it.  "And," I say, "because I left something in that jacket, and I need to get it back."  She doesn't move, so I reach into the pocket where I know I left the key.  At first I don't feel anything, and a wave of panic washes over me, but then my fingers brush against the paper, and I draw the small package out.

"Thank you," I say, and stay on my knees.

"Okay, Pose," Spice says, starting to lead Posey away.  Posey takes a step, then turns around.  She touches one dirty hand to the top of my head, holds it there a moment, and then totters back to her spot in the tunnel.

Spice finds me still on my knees when she returns.  She looks at me without saying anything, then offers me a hand up.

I think I passed.

"Ugh," I say, when I see my filthy pants in the light of day.  "I have to get back to Manhattan and change."

"Big date tonight?" she asks.  I get the feeling there's more of a motive behind that remark than she would care to admit, and decide to go for it.__

"Only if you'll come out with me," I say.

She looks surprised, and coughs to hide it.  "I stole your jacket, remember?"

"I thought we decided that wasn't on purpose."

"Well, yeah.  But I wouldn't go out with you anyways."

"Why not?" I persist, not letting her walk by.

She shakes her head.  "I don't go out, that's all.  Not with anybody."  She gets around me and starts heading back in the direction of her place.  "Didn't you have to go back?" she asks bluntly when I start to follow.

"Will you tell me something?"

"Not necessarily.  What?"

"Why'd you run last night?"

She falters, and stops.

"It's because the police were there, right?"

She purses her lips, and considers before answering.  "Yes," she says at last.  Her eyes narrow.  "But I'm not a criminal, or anything, like you're probably thinking."

"Then why would you run?" I persist.

She steps a little closer and looks up at me.  I know that she hasn't told many people what she's about to tell me.  "My father is a policeman," she says.  "My sister and I ran away two years ago and he has them all looking for us.  That's all."  She waits for me to say something.  I put my hand on her arm.

"But that's not all," I say.  "Why would you run?"

"That's not your business," she says.

"Tell me anyway."

She looks down at my hand but this time I let it rest there.  She sighs and looks into my eyes.  "Because," she says, "because I didn't want to give him the chance to do to me what he did to my sister."

This time when she walks away I don't try to get more out of her.


	3. Chapter Three

"Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye.  Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.  When the pie was opened the birds began to sing-wasn't that a lovely dish to set before the king?"

The singer swoops into the bunkroom.  I knew who it was as soon as I heard her voice on the steps.  Socksie, my ex, serial dater.  She sees me at a desk and sits on it.

"The king was in his counting-house, counting out his money," she sings delightedly, seeing that I'm in the midst of counting out my pitiful earnings.  Not nearly enough for a new jacket.  She has sat herself right in the middle of my pile, and I'm forced to push back my chair and throw up my hands.

"Socks!  Do you _mind?"_

"Don't be such a sourpuss, Swifty," she says, pulling a face and sliding into my lap.  Her arms slither around my neck and she leans in on me.  "I wanted to know why you haven't come to see me lately," she says sadly.

"Because," I say, trying to shove her off, "we broke up a month ago, that's why.  Because, if my memory serves me right, _you were fooling around with Racetrack."_

She pulls an even worse face and tries to stroke my cheek.  "But Race is with that Dianna girl now," she says, "and nobody wants little old me."

"I can't imagine why," I say dryly, and get her off my lap with one good shove.  She lands on the floor with a thud and an outraged squeak and stares up at me in surprise.  I shove all my money back in my moneybag and head for the hallway.

"But Swifty," she says, throwing herself at my legs and stopping me in my tracks, "last week I thought you wanted me again.  Last week, you were looking at me at that party-I noticed, even if I _was with Pie Eater."  She wraps herself around my legs and I'm immobilized.  "What changed, Swifty?  Why don't you like me anymore?"_

"Maybe I noticed what an insufferable _baby you are," I say, prying her off my legs.  "Maybe I noticed how you can't seem to stick with any one guy for more than a week.  Maybe I've got higher standards now!"_

Her pretty little mouth drops open and her eyes start shining with tears.  "You don't mean that, Swifty," she says.  "You don't _really mean that."_

"I'm sorry, Socks," I say, crouching down beside her.  "I really am.  But I don't want to see you anymore."

"You like that other girl, don't you?" she snivels, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

"Who?" I ask, shoving my handkerchief at her and wondering how on Earth she could know.

"That one Spot goes with.  Maverick.  I've heard things about you two.  And it's not _fair!" she says, slamming her fist on the floor.  "I'm so much prettier than she is!"  Uh-oh.  She's getting angry.  And when Socks gets angry, watch out._

"Socks…" I say, taking the handkerchief from her hand and wiping her face a little more roughly than necessary, "I don't like Spot's girl.  That's stupid rumors and it doesn't do anybody any good to believe them."

"Well Spot believes it," she says sullenly, refusing to be pacified, "and he's supposed to be coming to get you now that Doc told him she saw Maverick, and she wasn't wearing his key."

"What!?"  I'm up on my feet in a second.

She nods and sniffs loudly.  "Everyone in Brooklyn's heard about it.  Spot hears that Mav's losing interest, and he's telling everybody he's going to beat you up."

"Why me?" I ask the world in general, starting to beat my head against the wall.  "Why me?"  I can feel the key hanging heavy in my pants pocket, where it's been since I got it back yesterday.  Skittery's been busy seeing his new girl Hart and Jake's been sick in bed with a head cold, and I haven't dared to tell anyone else about it.  Nor would I be crazy enough to go into Brooklyn alone.

"Aww, Swifty," Socks says, starting to stroke my shoulder.  I stop beating my head long enough to give her a warning look and she draws her hand back.  "It's not that bad."

"It's that bad," I say, and beat my head harder.

"Well," she says, watching me dent the wall, "if you want somebody to nurse your little bruises when Spot's through with you, you know where to find me."

"Thanks," I say through gritted teeth, and beat my head a little longer.  When I hear her leave, I give my throbbing forehead a rest and collapse dejectedly into my chair.

I hear a girl giggle from the hallway and Race flings open the door.  He's got Dianna on his arm and they're obviously looking for a private place to get to know each other better, as Race frowns when he sees me and starts to shut the door.

"Wait," I say, standing up.  "I was just leaving."  I toss my moneybag on my bed and nod to Dianna as I pass through the door.

"Hey, Swifty," she says, taking me by the chin and looking at my forehead with concern.  "What happened to you?"

"Self-inflicted," I explain, and pull away.

"Dianna…" Race says impatiently from the bunkroom.

"Just a minute, sweetie," she says distractedly, still trying to examine my injury.  "Now Swifty, why would you do that to yourself?"

"Just getting used to pain, I suppose," I say.  "It won't be long before Spot's signing my death warrant."

"Why, what for?"

"Dianna…" Racetrack tries again, appearing behind her, but she waves him away.

"I seem to have this certain effect," I say, watching the expression on Race's face, "on other fellas' girlfriends.  Now, if you'll excuse me."  I duck away before Dianna can fuss over me more.  Having one friend thinking I'm out for his girl is enough, thank you.

I look up at the Brooklyn lodging house and gulp.  "Here goes nothing," I say to myself.  "Time to prove you're a man."  I don't know if waking Spot up in the middle of the night will catch him at his most harmless or his most volatile, but I'm about to find out.  I'm on the fire escape by the window I know to be his.  I knock softly, twice, and again a little more loudly when nobody answers.

Finally, Spot himself shoves the window open and glares out into the night.  "What is it?" he demands, popping up bare-chested with his hair a mess.  "And make it quick."  He looks around and sees it's me.  "Swifty-" he starts, and I quickly interrupt.

"Whatever you have to say, let me go first."  I launch into my prepared explanation, talking as fast as I possibly can.  I deny any involvement with Maverick, flirt as she might, explain my delay in returning the key to him, shovel more fuel into the flames of his ego, and, in short, plead for my very life.  When I'm finished, I humbly offer the key and wait for his response.

Much to my surprise, a grin crosses his face.

"So there's my key," he says, taking it.  "You have great timing, my friend."

"Hunh?" I say, still waiting for him to leap out the window and lay waste to my poor, defenseless self. 

Suddenly, I see a girl pop up beside him.  "Spot," she whines, leaning her head on his shoulder and twirling a strand of hair.  "What's _taking so long?"  My eyes almost pop out of my head.  It's Maverick, her hair loose around her freckled shoulders-and she's totally naked except for a sheet she holds against her chest.  Whoahhh.  She glances outside and sees me._

"Oh, hi Swifty," she says with a giggle, and when she raises a hand to flutter her fingers at me the sheet drops _almost enough.  Almost._

Spot's grin widens as he puts an arm around Maverick.  "Now you'll have to excuse me, Swifty.  My Mav is waiting.  Thanks for bringing the key by."  He drops the string around Maverick's neck and she giggles as he kisses her.  His kisses travel down her neck and, I'm sure, beyond, as he shuts the window and drops the blinds.

I sit stunned on the fire escape.

I think I just survived a near-death experience.


	4. Chapter Four

Two weeks pass quite uneventfully.  I spend the days selling papers and freezing my keister off, since I still can't afford a new jacket.  Every time I shiver I think of Spice, and I don't know whether to love her or hate her for giving my jacket to that little girl.

I think of Spice a lot, actually, which might sound strange since Jake and Skittery don't share my opinion that she's kind of pretty, in her own way.  I brought her up once, to quite a negative response, and have, since then, kept my opinions to myself.  I tell myself they just never saw her dry.  With her coppery hair…

I jump as a freezing cold snowball crumbles on my neck.  "Who did that!" I shout, spinning around and scooping up a handful of snow.

Jack takes his girl Mix by the hand and they run, but I see her black hair whipping around a corner and pursue them.  "I'm gonna get you!" I yell, and chase after them.  Once again proving myself worthy of my nickname, I catch up in no time flat and shove the snow right down Jack's shirt.

He shouts and flings a handful right back at me.  He misses and nails Mix instead, who shrieks from the cold and decides to join my side against him.  We rain snowballs down onto him until he's begging for mercy, and even then a handful of the other guys show up and join in.  By the time we're through with him, he's as cold and white as a snowman.

"No fair ganging up!" he groans at us, dusting the snow off his precious cowboy hat.

"Come on, frosty, let's warm you up," Mix says with a glimmer in her eye.  She pulls his arm around her shoulder and they head off together.

Skittery, who had been one of my fellow snowballers, claps me on the back.  "All right, Swifty," he says.  "Didja see his face when you got him right between the legs?" He mimics it, badly, and laughs.  "Come on, drinks are on me."  I know drinks are never really on Skittery, but we start for a nearby restaurant just as Firecracker, Mush's girl, runs up to us.

"Swifty," she says, grabbing my arm.  I try to make excuses to get away-with my kind of luck she'd start kissing me passionately and Mush would appear just in time to see it, thereby sealing my reputation as a girlfriend-stealer.

"Swifty!" she says more insistently, grabbing me back as I try to make my escape.  "I'm not gonna jump you, I'm just delivering a message!"

"What is it?"

"There are some girls waiting for you at the lodging house.  They wouldn't say why they're there, and they asked to see you.  Now say you'll go back with me, because I left Mush alone with them, and if I know him, he's chatting up the blond."

Firecracker's lack of faith in her boyfriend is not unfounded, so I let her hurry me back to the lodging house.  All the while, I'm trying to figure out who's come to see me on such secret business.  I would have liked to think it was Spice, but the mention of a blond confused me.  Then I have a flash of remembrance-the striking blond who disappeared inside the warehouse when I asked for Spice.  If it's anybody, it's her.

We enter the lodging house, shivering and stamping snow from our feet, and Firecracker takes us right to Mush and the two girls by the fire.  They're facing away from me, but I identify them immediately.  On the left is Spice, by her side the same blond I had remembered.  They turn, hearing our entry, and I find that I guessed right.

"Swifty," Spice says when she sees me, getting to her feet.  She goes right to me and I put my arms around her without thinking.  Her eyes are red like she's been crying.

"Spice," I say, pushing her hair out of her eyes.  "What's wrong?"

"I didn't know where else to go," she says, eyes glistening with tears.  "They knew to look at the warehouse… they found us somehow… I couldn't let them get Sugar again."

I glance down to see the blond sitting nervously at the edge of her chair, and it doesn't take much to piece together that she's Sugar, and she must be Spice's sister.  I mentally cringe at their nicknames, but I can already guess where they were derived from.  She's tall and fair while Spice is short and bright, but their faces have the same delicate, wide-eyed look.  It would be impossible to guess who was the older of the two.

Spice seems to notice that she's clinging to me, and she ducks her head and draws away with the cough I've already learned to identify as embarrassment.  Mush and Firecracker are staring at me, and I give them a look they can interpret to mean, "a little privacy, please?"  Mush dawdles to ask Sugar, "Are you sure I can't get you anything?"  When she shakes her head no, Fire smacks Mush-hard-and he makes a hasty exit.

As soon as they've gone I pull Spice back into my arms.  "Can you help us, then?" she asks.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know…"  She lets go of me to pace in front of the fire.  "Sugar could stay here… Could she?  They'd never look for her in a newsboys' lodging house.  They don't know I know you-they couldn't know."  When I take her hands, they're cold and trembling.  She really is as scared as she looks.

"What about you?  Couldn't you stay here too?"

She shakes her head.  "I don't think we should stay together.  We'd just be easier to find.  I'll see her when I can, but I'll have to find someplace else to hide.  Just 'til they forget about us… just 'til we can find someplace else to stay, together."

I rub her shoulder, then touch her face.  "I'll watch out for Sugar," I promise her.  "You watch out for yourself."

"Thanks," she says, and moves away from me.  I have to wonder if she's letting me touch her, hold her, just so I'll agree to all this.  It kind of hurts to think that.  I didn't think Spice would be like that-but I also didn't think I'd find her crying and soft in my arms.

She sits beside her sister again and they put their arms around each other.  "You'll be safe here," she promises.  "They'll never look here.  I'll try to see you every day."

Sugar nods and big tears roll shining down her cheeks.  She's a beauty, in a way no one will ever say her sister is-big gray eyes and classic rose-petal lips and a figure you have to forgive Mush for looking at.  When Spice gets up, she doesn't seem to know how to say good-bye to me.  So she nods, and says thanks again, and passes by me to exit.

I look to Sugar sitting by the fire and go sit next to her.  "Swifty Li," I say, offering my hand.

"Sugar McCoy," she says, in a barely audible voice I will soon discover is her only volume setting, and looks into the fire as she shakes my hand.  She doesn't seem to want to talk any more, so I hesitate, and clear my throat, and leave her alone in the room.

Spice comes to see her sister every night, and every night I try to kiss her but she somehow slips away.

"I told you, I don't go out with anybody," she says, smoothing her skirts.

I laugh and catch her hands again.  "So who's asking you to go out anyplace?  I just want to kiss you."  I try again, and she twists away.

"Please don't, Swifty," she finally says one night.  "When I want to, _I'll kiss __you."_

I don't try to kiss her again.


	5. Chapter Five

Then for three nights we don't see Spice at all.  Sugar's mostly kept herself to herself the whole time she's been staying here, but tonight we sit up by the window together and wait for Spice to appear in the street.

"What if something's happened to her?" Sugar says, her voice thin and strained with anxiety.  Through all my concern for Spice, I take time to note that that's probably the longest sentence I've yet heard come out of Sugar's mouth.

"Nothing's happened to her," I say.  "She's absolutely all right.  You'll see."

But when I go to buy my papers the next morning, I find out it's not true.  I skim the headlines as always, and she's mentioned right there on the front page of the _local section. "Missing Girl Reunited with Father" a headline clamors.  "Police officer finds long-lost daughter; one still missing."  There's a picture, even-her father holding her, turning her face from the camera._

"What's the matter, Swifty?" Skittery asks.  "You just ruined a perfectly good paper."

"Huh?" I glance down at my hand and see the crumpled remains of the paper clenched in the white fingers of my fist.

"Hey, Swifty, snap out of it," Skittery says, snapping his fingers in my face.  "What's going on?"  He takes the crumpled page when I hand it to him, and starts scanning the lines.  "Hey, Swifty, where you going?" he yells after me.

"Somebody's gotta tell Sugar," I say.  Her sweet name curdles on my tongue as I remember what Spice said to me so long ago:  "_I didn't want to give him the chance to do to me what he did to my sister."_

"Well somebody'd better come with you," Skittery says, catching my elbow, "'cause you can't even walk straight, my friend."

I shake my head and belatedly realize I'd wandered into a wall.  "Get a grip," Skittery hisses at me, or maybe I heard it in my head.  Wherever it came from, I obey, shaking my head harder to clear my thoughts and forcing my body to get right back under my control, where it belongs.  In a moment I'm walking normally and only the dark look in my eyes betrays my thoughts.

Once we've turned a corner and are away from the others, Skittery pats my back.  "Hey, man, it's okay," he says.  I lean against a wall and pull my hat low over my eyes.

"I'm okay," I say, waving him away and hunching over.  "Just give me a minute, 'kay?"

"No problem," he says, deliberately turning his back.

I breathe carefully and work on banishing the thoughts from my head.  It's a kind of a trick my grandpa taught me.  I tell myself I've got to be composed, if I'm going to be the one to tell Sugar.  If this news is beating me up like this, how is she going to take it?  Skittery coughs as a warning he's about to turn back around, and I hurriedly make sure my eyes stayed dry.  Yeah.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say.  "Ready."  As I will be.

When we're halfway down the hall to Sugar's room, we hear the door open behind us.  We pause and turn to see who else has returned to the lodging house.  Then we see him come around the corner; it's Specs, looking as surprised to see us as we are to see him.

"What're you doing here?" Specs and I say in unison.  I wait for him to go first.

"I wanted to tell Sugar about her sister," he says, holding up a newspaper, then looks uncertain.  "This _is about her sister, right?"_

"What do you have to do with Sugar?" I ask, probably sounding more defensive than I intended.

"Ain'tcha noticed, man?" Skittery asks me, sotto voce.  "Specs and Sugar've been making eyes at each other since she showed up."

Specs has overheard and he looks slightly embarrassed.  I'm a little embarrassed myself, for having been too wrapped up in my feelings for Spice to have noticed another romance blossoming right under my nose.  "Ah, well, good for you," I say uncomfortably.  "Should we tell her together then?"

"You do that," Skittery says, "and I'm hitting the road while I can still sell some papes."

He leaves us with that and Specs and I go knock on the door of the tiny spare room Kloppman put Sugar up in.

"Specs?" she calls from inside.  Specs goes red and I stifle a laugh as she opens the door and realizes her mistake.  Her cheeks flush scarlet as she invites us both in.  I can't believe I've overlooked this Specs and Sugar thing so long.  The way they're looking at each other and blushing every shade of red known to man is hardly what you'd call subtle.  

"So what's this about?" she asks, smoothing her skirts as she sits on the bed.  Specs and I look at each other, not knowing how to start.  Then a possibility enters her mind and she puts her hand to her mouth.  "Oh no… It's Spice, isn't it?"

I nod soberly. "I'm sorry, Sugar.  We got this today."  I pass her the newspaper and let her read for herself.  Halfway through, tears start trickling down her cheeks.  With my new skills of observation, I watch Specs reach to pat her leg, then retract his hand, then cautiously set it down on her knee.  She freezes up a second and he starts to jerk his hand away, but then she sets her free hand on top of his and I see them entwine their fingers.  All this happens in just a few seconds, and Sugar continues reading the article.  When's she's finished, she drops it onto her lap and leans her forehead on her hand.

 "Are you gonna be alright, Sugar?" I ask.

She nods without looking up.  "Yes… please, just…" She releases Specs' hand and waves us away.  I quickly start for the door and Specs is right behind me, but she catches his hand.  "No, you please stay," she says, the light glinting off her tear-soaked cheeks.  I close the door on the sight of them sitting with their arms around each other, and for a bewildering moment, I have this unreasonable urge to knock Specs' teeth out.

"Can you see?" Specs calls from the ground.

I slide over on the tree branch as far as I dare, but my view through the window is still obscured.  "Not a damn thing," I stage-whisper back.  "Just a wall."

"Come back down then."  I comply as quickly as possible, and land on the ground beside him, pushing up the sleeves of Skittery's borrowed jacket.  "Want to chance it?" Specs asks.

"Absolutely," I say, giving the drainpipe a long look.  I soon find out it's not as easy to shinny up those things as the books make it sound, especially not when you're trying to be absolutely silent.  When my boot slips and bumps the side of the house, I freeze where I am and cling to the pipe until my arms tremble with exhaustion, just waiting to be discovered.  When I know I'll fall if I wait a minute longer, I continue climbing with greater care.  After forever, I finally reach the window.  I hold the drainpipe with one arm, rest my weight on the narrow windowsill, press my nose to the glass, and look in.  Spice is there, sleeping on a wrought-iron bed in an otherwise empty room.  She lies on her side in a plain white nightgown, her face distressed even in sleep.  I grip the drainpipe and feel my heart leap into my throat.

"Well?" Specs calls up softly.  "Can you see anything?"

"She's in there," I tell him.  "I'm going in. Come on up after me."  I run my fingers along the edges of the window and find a place to slide my pocketknife in, finding a catch and easily swinging the window open.  Spice hears my entry and wakes with a start.

"Swifty!" she whispers, wide-eyed.

I rush to her and reach for her hands, only to find that she's handcuffed to the iron bedpost.  "Spice-Oh God-your hands."  Without thinking, I jerk at the metal handcuffs and they clang against the iron.  Spice hisses with pain as the metal bites into the raw red sores around her narrow wrists.

"Shh," she says, trying to push my hands away.  "You'll wake my father.  Not a sound."

"Oh God, Spice…" I say, sinking to my knees, and can't go on.  She's pulled herself up to her knees, the long skirt of the nightdress twisting around her legs, but she has to remain half-bent to accommodate the handcuffs.  I can see her shoulder blades standing out on her skinny back, arched like wings.  She looks thin and peaked and her hair falls disheveled into her eyes.  It hurts to look at her, but I can't take my eyes away.  I didn't realize how much I wanted her arms around me until I saw her chained like this, unable even to reach for my hand.

"I didn't expect to see you," she says in a whisper.

"I had to come," I say, pushing her hair from her eyes in an excuse to touch her face.  "Sugar told us the way.  Spice, are you… are you okay?"  _The chance to do to me what she did to my sister, my brain yells at me, but I can't voice the rest of my question.  Spice understands, and nods gravely._

"I'm okay.  I promise."  She chokes though, and says, "But Swifty… I don't know for how long."

"Shhh…" I say, putting a finger to her lips, those soft lips my lips have never known.  She chokes again, and I want to bury my face in her neck and rub her back and let her feel that I'm here for her, but I can't let myself do it, with her chained like this and unable to resist my touch.  "We'll get you out of here, I promise," I tell her, stroking her cheek.  "We'll get you out of here soon."

"Oh, how?" she says, jerking her head away and staring down at her handcuffed wrists.  "You see what he's done.  How could I ever get out of this?"

"Don't you give up so easy.  We'll figure it out, and I'll come to see you every night 'til then."

She suddenly freezes and stares at something over my shoulder.  My heart goes cold and I turn fast, only to see Specs standing by the window, where he's probably been for some time now.  "Oh, Spice, this is Specs," I say, and he approaches the bed.

"Oh, right," she says warmly.  "The one Sugar was always talking about."

"Really?" he says eagerly, and then remembers to drop his voice.  "I mean, really?"

She looks at him a while, as if appraising her sister's choice.  "I'd like to talk to you alone, for a second," she says, then looks at me.  "If you don't mind, Swifty."

"No, no problem," I lie, and go sit by the window.  She and Specs talk just out of my hearing for a while and then it's time for us to go.

"I'll come again tomorrow," I promise, crouching back down beside her.

"You'd really better not," she says.  "My father just can't know.  He could hear you here.  Don't come, Swifty.  It's too dangerous."  Of course she's being sensible, and safe, but I don't _want her to be sensible.  I want her to be reckless and daring and senseless and devoted, the way I feel.  But I nod and step away._

"We'll just come when we can bust you out of here, then," I say.  "Until then… you watch out for yourself, Spice."

"I always do."

I run my hand over hers before I can bring myself to leave.  My thumb brushes the cold metal of her handcuffs, amd I can taste it under my tongue, bitter and silvery, for the rest of the night.  Specs and I then walk back to the lodging house together, and it's not until we're practically home that I remember to ask him what he and Spice talked about.

"Not much, really," he says, meaning exactly the opposite.  "Just… about Sugar… and why it might take her a while to warm up to me, you know.  About how she's been treated, you know, in the past.  Why she doesn't like to be touched sometimes.  That kind of thing."

"Rough stuff, huh," I say, looking at my boots, my mind wandering to Spice.

"Yeah," Specs says.  "That's what she said."  There's a pause, and then he adds, "And she said to tell you, because she said you'd ask, or at least want to ask-that's it's not the same with her.  That she's got her own reasons.  Does that make sense?"

"As much sense as Spice ever makes," I say, kicking a rock out of the road.

"Well, take it easy, man," he says, clapping me on the shoulder.  "We'll figure out how to get her out of there in no time."

"Yeah, that's the hard part," I agree, half to myself, as he heads up the lodging house stairs.  I still can't get things out of my mind; Spice as I first saw her, Spice looking away in the newspaper photograph, Spice hunched over on her bed.  _I didn't want to give him the chance to do to me what he did to my sister.  What he did to her sister…_

"Wait, Specs!" I say.  "There may be one way to get her out."


	6. Chapter Six

I'm the one with the motive.  Skittery's the one who actually understands how all this legal stuff works.  And Specs, Specs is the one who's got to do the convincing.

"Sugar…" he starts.  "Sugar, we came to ask you if you can do something.  For your sister.  We've thought about this, a lot, and it's the only way to get Spice back, and to keep you two out of danger for good.  Sugar," he says slowly, "you have to tell."

Sugar goes white and something changes in her eyes.  Specs tries to put a reassuring arm around her shoulder, and she backs away from his touch.  His face falls and she sees, and takes his hand instead.

"Do you know what we're saying?" Skittery asks.  "We're going to need you to go to the police.  We'll come with you.  You just have to tell them everything."

"I can't," she says, looking at us levelly, though her twitching lip betrays her emotion.  "I can't go to the police.  Not to the police."

I hit Skittery's arm and whisper, "Remember, Skits?  Her dad's one of them."

Skittery frowns and I can see he's thinking.  "We could write it out.  If you'll write it out, write everything out, you won't have to go anywhere the police station."

"Will that work?" Specs asks her, cupping her hand in both of his.  "Can you write it?"

"Please," Sugar whispers, her voice breaking my heart.  "Please don't make me write it down.  Don't make me make it permanent.  Please."  She draws a tearful breath and falls into Specs' embrace.

"No baby, it's okay," I hear him murmuring into her hair.  "We won't make you do it.  It's okay."  He holds her head against him and gives us a look that means contradicting him would be hazardous to our health.  What does he think we are, anyway—sadists?

"How about me?" he asks her, turning her face up to him and wiping a tear away with his thumb.  "Could you tell me, and I could write it down?"

"I've never told anybody," she says, or at least I think she says, since she's talking so soft.  She starts to cry out loud now, with terrible feminine wails that she tries hard to suppress.  She buries her face in Specs's shoulder and shakes her head violently.  "No, no, no, I can't."

"Sugar," I have to interrupt, cutting between them.  "Think of your sister.  Please, think of Spice.  She'd do it for you."

Sugar's sobs die away as she stares at me for a long silence.  Then her eyes flutter and I believe for a second she's about to faint, but she opens them again.  "I'll do it," she says at last.  "She'd do it for me."

"Attagirl, Sugar," Skittery says.  "Thank you, Sugar," I say. "Sugar, baby, it's okay," Specs says as she sags, crying, onto his shoulder again.  When we close them inside Sugar's room with ink and pens and pages and pages of paper, Specs has a stolid look on his face like a soldier going into battle.  Sugar is visibly shaking, and beginning to grate on at least Skittery's nerves with her incessant tears.  Like a couple of expectant fathers outside the maternity ward, Skittery and I sit down to wait.

In less than an hour, Specs emerges from the room.  We jump up quick but it's all too evident he wasn't successful.  "I couldn't do it, guys," he says, voice breaking.  "I couldn't do it and she couldn't tell me."

We try to pat him on the back and tell him it's okay but he shakes his head and stumbles away into the bunkroom.  It's not the kind of thing you mention, but his eyes were red.  I sigh dejectedly and lean against the wall.

"So it's on you, Swifty," Skittery says then.

"What?" I say, straightening up.

"Well we've got to get it on paper somehow!  Who else can do it-me?"

"Why _not you?"_

"Swifty.  I barely know the girl.  Plus I'm not the one who's smitten with her sister, who, I might remind you, this entire thing is for."

The image of Spice from the newspaper page flashes across my mind.  "Skittery, man, I can't.  I can't listen to a girl tell me the things I know she's going to say."

"Aw come on!" Skittery says, clubbing me in the head and none-too-gently, either.  "So much for true love and all that, when it really comes down to it you'd rather go off and let somebody else deal with it, huh?  I didn't realize that's the way love works!"

"Whoever said I was in love?" I yell, following in that time-honored human tradition of arguing about the unimportant points when you know you're wrong.

"It's just been written on your face ever since you met her.  Come on, Swifty!  You were the right guy for this all along.  Chinese mind jobs and everything."  I break when I feel his hand on my shoulder.  "Come on, Swifty," he says.  I feel my stomach start to twist up.

"Skits," I say, starting my final appeal, "I just can't listen, knowing that all the things she's saying… That could be what their dad's doing to Spice, right now."

My friend looks right into my eyes and I realize what he's about to say the moment before he says it.  "Swifty," he says, "that's why you've _got to listen."_

I write for three hours.  We cover twenty-six sheets of paper with my script, which starts off orderly and starts sprawling every which way about halfway through.  Near the end, my writing hand was cramping up so badly I seriously considered switching to my right.  Sugar's been calm and serious the entire time, only the occasional tremor of her shoulders reminding me how much I'm unintentionally hurting her.  Sometimes her voice goes so soft I miss what she said and have to ask her to say it again, and those are always the worst parts.  But we finish before the sun came up.  I take up the papers in my ink-stained left hand and stand from the desk, hearing my knees pop like snapping twigs as I get to my feet.

"Don't let anyone read those," she says hoarsely, catching my wrist with surprising strength.  "Not Specs or Skittery or anyone.  Just the police.  Don't let anybody read those."

"I promise," I say, meaning it completely, and the papers shake in my hand.  The sound of the door closing behind me wakes Skittery, who has fallen asleep with his back to the wall.

"You done?" he asks, getting up.  "You got it all?"

I place the papers in his hand and tell him, "Don't you read a word."  Then I sprint away from him and into the lobby and vomit into a trash can.  I heave again and again until nothing more will come up, then sink to my knees and let my mind spin away from me.  I don't remember Skittery putting me to bed.

I stick my head into the bunkroom and see Specs and Sugar talking at a nearby table.  "Hey, you," I say to Specs.  "Are you about ready?"

"Oh, yeah," he says.  "I was just gonna go."  He stands and picks a folder up off the table.  He says something to Sugar and kisses her cheek and joins me at the door, looking back at Sugar uncertainly.  Skittery stands beside Sugar and waves at Specs.

"Don't worry about anything," Skittery says.  "I'll stick with her."

Specs nods and I follow him into the hallway.  He's a little anxious about this whole thing; it's obviously Sugar rubbing off on him.  When we reach the street he tucks the folder under his arm and lights up a cigarette to calm down.

"Hey, man, this is the easy part," I tell him.

He shakes his head no and exhales.  "She's scared so bad, Swifty.  Her dad… he used to tell her all kinds of awful things he'd do if she told.  You know Spice did tell, a couple years ago?  And he got the whole thing covered up easy, 'she lies for the attention, blah blah,' since Sugar wouldn't back up Spice's story.  And then he killed her cat.  Killed her cat and made her watch and told her that's just what he would do _to the other sister if one of them ever mentioned it again.  Just snap her neck, like that."  He mimes the motion; a quick twist of the wrists.  I flinch as I can imagine the sound._

"Wow," I manage to say.  "That's tough."

"Yeah."  He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out with his heel.  "So anyways, that's why she wanted Skittery with her.  But I think she's been pretty brave, considering."

"Yeah."

"And how's Spice?"

"I don't know.  Haven't seen her since I went with you.  I'm going to see her now, though."

"Yeah, I didn't exactly think you were going to play some ball in the park," he says, nodding toward the baseball bat I've been carrying.

I tug my hat lower.  "Well, you know… I didn't want Spice to be alone when he found out."

"Well, good luck," Specs says, slapping me on my shoulder.  It's a kind of a strange thing to say, given the situation, but somehow sounds appropriate.  So I wish him the same and we split to go our separate ways: him to the police station three blocks down, and me toward Spice's father's place.

It's just dark enough to dare to sneak onto their property.  I climb the drainpipe again with some difficulty, due to the bat tucked through a suspender.  I could see, silhouetted in a window, that her father is home, so I proceed with extra caution.  Finally I reach the window and, seeing that Spice is again alone in the room, pry the window open and enter.

Spice is dozing on the bed, probably for lack of anything better to do.  I notice that this time she's only cuffed by one wrist; her free hand swings down at the side of the bed, dangling above a tray with an empty bowl and cup.  A grubby white bandage is wrapped around that wrist, but slipping to show a large scabby sore.  She's sleeping lightly but I walk lighter still, and she doesn't wake until I touch her hand.

Her eyes open fast and she sits partway up.  "Swifty?"

"Hi," I mouth back.

"What are you doing here?  I told you not to come," she whispers quickly.  "And Swifty-what's that?"

She's looking to the baseball bat I've rested against the bed as I sit beside her.  "Look, Spice," I say.  "We're getting you out of here, like I promised.  Sugar wrote out a confession and Specs is taking it to the police as we speak."

Spice shakes her head.  "No.  Sugar wouldn't ever-"

"She did," I say.  "She loves you that much.  Now she's home, and safe, and Skittery's keeping an eye on her.  If Specs is managing his part of the deal, the police will be here any minute.  And then you'll be safe.  And for good.  Even if they don't believe Sugar, they'd take you away from him based on this alone."  zShe can see I'm referring to the handcuffs and the empty room and the entire situation.

"They're going to believe Sugar," she says resolutely.  "This time they will.  I'm not letting this just fall apart, not for anything."

"I believe you," I smile at her, admiring the square set of her shoulders and her determined expression.

Then we both jump at the sound of a sudden noise.  Someone's knocking loudly on a door.  I quickly realize it's the downstairs door, not the door to our room, but my heart is still going fast.  Spice reaches for my hand and grips it fiercely and we both look to our door.

"Open up!" I hear a man's voice yelling over the sound of the knocking.  "This is the police."

I breathe in, relieved, and look over to Spice.  Her eyes are shut so tight the skin around them is white with tension, and her lips are pinched thin.  Then she opens her eyes and sees me examining her, so she flashes a nervous smile.  Then her smile disappears as she hears a noise I can't identify.

"What?"

"That's him, on the stairs," she says, the color fading from her face.  "He's coming."

I drop her hand and grab the baseball bat.  "Where are the stairs?" I ask, assessing the circumstances.

"Straight ahead from this door," she tells me.  "The front door is right at the foot."

I position myself beside the door after noting which way it swings, and grip the bat tensely in my hands.  I swing the bat gently once or twice, thanking God I'm a lefty.  I'm thinking clearly enough to observe how strange it is that I don't feel panicked at all.  I lift the bat to my shoulder and listen close as I hear more urgent knocking on the downstairs door and the irregular thuds of footsteps on the stairs.

The footsteps change and I breathe in deeply and choke up on the bat.  The knocking below has intensified, and the footsteps are fast and loud as they approach our door.  I have to fight this stupid urge to shut my eyes.

Then the door slams open and I swing hard before I even look.  The bat connects with a crack that shakes me to my shoulders.  Immediately I hear a shout of pain but my hearing focuses on the distinctive heavy sound of a pistol falling to the floor.  I instantly dive for the weapon and leap to my feet.  I see Spice's father clearly for the first time as I raise the gun to aim at his chest.

He staggers back against the doorframe.  "Who in the _hell are you?" he shouts.  Blood seeps through his fingers as he holds his hand to his forehead._

"I'm her guardian angel," I say.  "And I'm pissed off."  Without taking my eyes off the man, I drop the bat to the ground behind me.  He's gone white and he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, but he's still in uniform and starts acting the part.

"Hey, now, son," he says peaceably, starting to lower his hands and try to advance toward me.  "Let's all just stay calm."

He freezes midstep and raises his arms again at the unmistakable click of the gun's hammer being cocked.  "Don't dick around with me," I warn him, my voice as steady as my hand.  "Don't you think for a second I'll hesitate to blow a hole through your head if you make one more move.  I've wished you dead too many times to give up my chance to be the man who makes it happen."

I've got him scared now.  Have I ever got him scared.  He keeps his face blank but tiny droplets of sweat start forming at his hairline.  The knot on his head from my bat is swelling up dark and painful even as I watch.  A syrupy drop of blood starts to seep down his forehead, and his eyebrows twitch as it rolls toward his eye, but he doesn't dare brush it away.

The police continue hammering on the door downstairs, useless as they are.  My arm doesn't shake, doesn't move a centimeter.  The drop trickles through his dark brow and hangs for a moment above the hollow of his eye, trembling.  Then it drops down and lands on his cheek, where it glimmers and slips down to his chin like an artificial tear.  About time someone made the bastard cry _for what he's done._

"Now turn around," I say, "and do it slowly."  I take a few steps so I'm still behind him, close enough to be a threat, but far enough that he couldn't take a grab at me if he got up the nerve.  "Now," I say calmly, "down the stairs."

The pounding from below ceases for a moment.  "We're breaking down the door!" the police yell.

"Tell them that's not necessary," I say.  "Invite them in." 

There's a puzzled silence from outside when he obeys.  Under my direction, he continues down the stairs and reaches the foyer. 

"Now," I say, watching from the landing, "open the door.  And tell them she's in the bedroom."

And I don't know what happened after that.


	7. Chapter Seven

_Dear Swifty, the letter reads.  __I'm sorry I didn't write earlier, but I guess you'd understand that we've been busy sorting things-everything-out.  I skim through the short letter to the signature.  There's no closing, just a blank space in which I imagine minutes of indecisiveness, which really tells me more than a "yours truly" or "your friend" ever could.  There's just a blank, and then her name:  __Corinne McCoy._

"Corinne," I say, testing the sound of it.

"Yeah," she says, brushing her hair from her eyes.

"It's beautiful," I say.

"Thanks," she says with a vague smile, drumming the heels of her boots against the counter she sits on.  New boots.  New boots, new dress, new haircut, new smile.  Life with her aunt is agreeing with her.

"Thanks for delivering it personally," I say, tucking it into the pocket of my new jacket.

"Well, you know.  There didn't seem much point in mailing it, with me living so close now," she says.  I grin, knowing that even though she is living in Manhattan now, she's come way out of her way to drop this by.  "Oh, what are you grinning for?" she says, yanking my hat low over my eyes.  "I hope you don't think I came to see _you."_

Momentarily blinded, I stagger forward and plant my hands on the countertop, one on either side of her skirts.  I tug my hat back up and look up at her, sitting so close I can smell her.  Not perfume, but something subtle and natural and purely Spice.  She slides off the countertop and lands soundlessly on the floor, between my arms but not touching.  "Um, Swifty?" she says, her stubborn hair falling back into her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Um…" she says.  "I felt stupid trying to write it, so, I didn't, but… I just mean, thanks."  She sweeps her hair off her forehead. "You know.  For doing so much."

"No problem," I'm about to say, but she runs a hand up my arm and I stop before I've started out of sheer surprise.  Then she puts her cold hands around my neck and kisses me hard, like someone who hasn't kissed much and wants to get this one right.  I bend into her as she pulls me forward, and my hands slide around her waist.  We kiss long and full until she lets go and steps back, trying to play it cool but unable to hide her look of surprise when she backs into the counter.

"So, um, see you around," she says, shaking her bangs from her eyes.

"See you," I say dazedly, and move aside so she can exit onto the street.  I turn slowly and watch her back until she's gone, then I collapse against the counter with a sweet sigh of delight.

It warms up in March.  Our jackets lie forgotten where we left them on a bench as we toss the ball around.  Jake throws the ball to me and I stop and look at it in my hands, remembering the impromptu games we used to invent.  I take a few steps back.  "Li expands the boundaries…" I say experimentally.

Skittery grins as he immediately figures out what I'm up to.  Jake shakes his head, "Ah, no…"

I bounce the ball Jake's way, catching him by surprise.  "Li throws in to Callahan," I shout at him.

"Callahan doesn't want it!" he yells back, but he grabs it anyway the second Skittery comes after him.  He starts to run, crazily, anything to avoid Skittery.  (It always seemed Skittery's favorite aspect of the game was the wrestle-you-to-the-ground maneuver he never failed to incorporate.)  When Jake tries to bounce the ball as he runs, like I always do, the ball flies out of his control and rolls across the path.  Skittery's fingers barely brush it as I swipe it right out from under his nose.

I laugh as I start to run away.  "An easy steal by Li," I yell.

"McCoy intercepts!" Corrine shouts, doing so.  I feel the ball leave my hands and give a yelp of surprise, but she's has taken off running.

"Spice and Skittery are taking it _downtown!" she crows._

I put on a burst of speed and catch up to her.  I take a swipe at the ball but she's too quick.

"Ah, ah, can't get it? Can't get it?" she taunts, pulling it away from my hands every time.  Finally I get my fingers on it and she jumps at me.  She flings her arms around my neck and wraps her legs around my waist and locks her lips on mine.  I shut my eyes automatically and stagger backwards, barely keeping my balance.  When she ends the kiss, I take a gasp of air and hear her yell, "Catch!"

"What!"  I spin around to see Skittery catch the ball Corrine flings at him, but she's still clinging to me and we fall in a tangle on the grass.  I try to extract myself, calling her all kinds of names, but she grabs me back.

"For_get the game," she says, dragging me towards her by my collar.  She kisses me once, twice, three times._

"That's all very nice," I say, and kiss her back, "but how do I know this isn't one of your little tricks?"

She gives me her most devious look and wraps her arms around my neck.  "Maybe it is," she murmurs, stroking the back of my neck in that way she knows really gets to me, "but isn't it nice to be tricked?" 

I grin into her lips and we sit there in the grass and kiss each other countless times. Grand-slam, outta the park, all-star touchdown dunk.  A thousand points to Swifty Li.

© Princess MacEaver, 2002


End file.
